Thursday, April 18, 2013

Guest: The Masterpiece

I was created for
a noble cause. I believed this from the beginning. With loving patience,
Giovani transformed me from imperfect, undefined clay into the finest porcelain
urn in all of Italy.
With his own gnarled hands, he molded me on his wheel for service and splendor.
He covered me with oils of blues and greens-a coat of polished perfection. When
persuaded what he created was worthy of completion, he put me through the final
fire. With much pleasure, he inspected his work aided by the noon’s sunlight.
“Good,” he proclaimed. “It is very good!
Fit for a queen.”

And so I came into
being. Not an ordinary earthen jar, but a vase of importance, destined to be
the possession of royalty. Yet, inexplicably I remained on the potter’s shelf,
hidden from the patrons in search of common ware who frequented Giovani’s
workshop. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, I pondered at the
meaning of my abandonment.

I was destined to
rest on a monarch’s table, bearing witness to the genius that made me. Months
turned into years, and still I remained apart and secreted. Was this to be my
end? Was I so delicately crafted only to
decay from purposelessness?

When it seemed as
if time could no longer be measured, Giovani at last appeared. He rescued me
from my ruinous state, covered me with his polishing cloth, and restored my
former gloss. Like an offering to the Most High, he raised me toward the upper
window. Hues of aqua and marine burst into the room as the sun’s rays broke
through. “It is still good,” he nodded in approval. “Rosetta will be pleased.”

Was I finally to
be released from this graveyard of uselessness?
Giovani cradled me in his hands, transporting me from obscurity to a
long-awaited unveiling. He brought me
along a cobbled path into a white, simple cottage, his home. He filled my
emptiness with cool waters from his well, then set me upon a splintered table,
adorning me with velvety roses.

He carried me past
the thistle grove into a green meadow that stretched like a carpet before a
mound of sculptured granite. Engraved with seraphim and cherubs, the stone was
inscribed with a single word, “Rosetta.”
He placed me on an adjacent pedestal. While a salty tear dropped from
his cheek, he knelt beside his beloved’s resting place, declaring, “For you, my
Rosetta, my wife, my love, my queen.”

It was at this
moment I realized the truth of my creation. My destiny was not the admiration
of sovereigns. My purpose was a testament to a love undiminished by death, a
token of his veneration for she who held his heart. With each dawn, Giovani
faithfully replenishes my contents with Rosetta’s favorite flower. Above all
artifacts made by the potter’s hand, I have been chosen to bear his tribute. With
honor such as this, I am now complete.

About the Author:

Winner of the 2012 Selah Award for best first novel The Other
Side of Darkness/Harbourlight, LINDA WOOD
RONDEAU, writes stories of God’s mercies. Walk with her unforgettable
characters as they journey paths not unlike our own. After a long career in
human services, Linda now resides in Jacksonville, Florida.

These books are also available in ebook format along with
her other ebooks by Helping Hands Press: I
Prayed for Patience/God Gave Me Children and Days of Vines and Roses. Songs in the Valley is scheduled for
release this fall by Helping Hands Press.

I do not leave a response, however I read a great deal of responses here "Guest: The Masterpiece". I actually do have 2 questions for you if it's okay. Could it be just me or does it look like some of these remarks appear like they are written by brain dead folks?:-P And, if you are posting on other online sites, I would like to follow you.

Would you make a list of the complete urls of all your social community sites like your linkedin profile, Facebook page or twitter feed?